


I'm lost but I don't know why

by kalika_999



Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [41]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Developing Relationship, Friendship, HYDRA Husbands, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 00:08:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14726216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: He slides a key across his desk and leaves.





	I'm lost but I don't know why

**Author's Note:**

> How do I choose a title when I have Hotline Bling stuck in my head? :(

They’ve been doing this dance over time, dealing with the bad in their own little ways and for Jack, he never even knew Brock had been dealing with anything until he caught him out one time in the locker rooms when he was straggling behind and figured everyone had left already.

He’d been wrong, the water rushing over murmured words that Brock said to himself under the spray and Jack only figured out just enough to get an idea he wasn’t the only one that felt a lingering weight across both shoulders.

Despite knowing though, he didn’t linger, backing out as quickly as he had come in and left for the lot. He wasn’t sure if saying anything would have mattered, especially with how Brock was normally and it wasn’t like they were best friends, hell, he wasn’t sure if they were exactly _friends_. Sure they got along but Brock was his Commander and he was just the guy that played his shadow.

It takes Jack about a month to cave. Their relationship has somewhat progressed enough for him to tell Brock out of the blue in private, with a hand on his shoulder, that he knows the feeling. Sharp eyes look over his face in confusion and quickly it _clicks_ , the man shouldering his hand off and picking up the files they had spread out, muttering some sort of excuse and telling him to get back to his duties.

Jack doesn’t let up though, a couple days later he tells Brock about his place being open to him, slides a key across his desk and leaves. He’s not sure why he does it, especially when he sees the same key resting on the top shelf of his locker later that day when they have to pack it up and head out.

He leaves it there, just in case.

The key stays in its new home for 2 months, 3 weeks and 6 days before it goes missing after a mission gone wrong. Jack doesn’t look for him once he figures it out, Brock’s made himself scarce once they landed on home soil and no one’s seen him since. After the debrief Jack heads home, he’s not sure what to find when he gets there.

*****

...

He’s not there, he doesn’t end up showing up. Jack’s calls go straight to voicemail, so do everyone else’s who tries to call.

It’s three in the morning when Brock does show up, Jack stirring on the couch to the click of his lock while his hand slips under the coffee table for the gun there just to be safe. It only relaxes when Brock comes into view, basking in the light of the television dressed in worn sweats and his hair unkempt. He looks a little deranged and Jack eases to his feet slow and careful eyeing the gleam of the key pinched tight between a shaking thumb and index.

Jack sets him on the couch, gets him a beer which Brock promptly drinks down in one go, fingers flexing and trembling against the smoothness of the bottle. He keeps opening his mouth to say something before closing it again, unsure as eyes dart around his place. He’s been there before, a few times, had visited to drop something off or stay for a beer before leaving, all far and few but he knew it. Jack doesn’t really mind what he’s doing as long as he’s there, dealing with whatever he’s got in his head somewhere not out there, not that Jack can really help but he wants to be there, he doesn’t know why. He’s more than happy to be in Brock’s space as they sit in silence together, he finds he’s always been good with that.

It doesn’t take very long, maybe a good thirty minutes before the television lulls Brock to fall asleep on the couch. He’s curled into himself, tight and pressed to the corner end, his face bowed forward near tucked knees and Jack can’t help but observe him while he sleeps, at least for a few minutes. He watches his back on the field, he still can’t help himself when he doesn’t have to.

There’s a blanket waiting on the worn armchair, an anticipated move on Jack’s part, and he pulls it over Brock the best he can despite the way he’s sleeping upright. 

He leaves for his bedroom with the door left wide open, the intention to keep awake a little longer so to make sure Brock’s rest wasn’t temporary but the next time he opens his eyes the sun is stretching across his bed between the slats of his blinds and Brock’s left.

There’s no note or any sign he was even there, the blanket folded neatly back on the armchair where it originally was, except for his house key sitting beside the empty beer bottle returned to him once again.

*****

It starts to become a habit. He leaves the house key in his locker again and eventually Brock takes it. Jack can never anticipate it no matter how well he can read him, so soon enough he gives up trying to.

Gradually it becomes a thing that happens, Brock hanging out at his place at odd hours. Jack knows he said the doors were always open, but he honestly thought Brock would only show up if it was really bad for him. Maybe after some sort of panic episode he seems to have by himself or after he has a shitty nightmare and ends up wandering until he gets to his home.

It just doesn’t turn out that way.

Brock starts following him home after work, does paperwork at an old antique desk that Jack’s never bothered to use and had cluttered with old boxes he meant to store away but just left. Brock clears it out and puts said boxes into the attic where they were destined for while Jack can only watched helplessly. Other times he sits sprawled out on the couch, with just enough space for Jack if he does join, watching terrible made for TV Hallmark movies and drinks all the beer in the fridge. He even consumes the IPA stuff Jack occasionally tries out that Brock likes to needle him about when he’s in a good mood. He’s never as quiet as he was the first time he had ended up here after Jack had invited him, usually ignoring all insinuation something wasn’t right just so he could be _normal_ and Jack lets him, knows the feeling. There are moments though where Brock goes off, he’s shaken up or affected by something and he just wants to be left alone but safe in Jack’s home around his four walls, Jack’s okay with that as well and only works around him.

Surprisingly, as startling as the discovery of Brock making a place for himself here is, Jack oddly relishes in it. He’s been by himself for so long, only cared for himself that it’s welcoming to hear another person about, even if they’re yelling at the television over how stupid the plot of a story is or how Jack needs to see how ridiculous the gadget was. Brock’s presence fills the gaps of emptiness and makes things more wholesome. He’s not expected to have full on conversations and Brock is happy with simple acknowledgements of nods and hums. When he does have something to say he does and they share a companionable conversation from time to time and very rarely there’s moments Jack has to rant about something and he’s met with snark or snorts of amusement. He finds that not only does he like it, he actually enjoys it.

*****

Once it’s cemented into Jack’s mind that this is how life proceeds, he begins to dabble back into cooking dinner for two. It’s something he hasn’t done in years on the level he does now, usually only having to feed himself and can get away with “healthy” take out options or something quick and simple without worrying about how there’s too little of this or too much of that. It was only him and he wasn’t going to argue with himself over missing the salt or overdoing the red chillies; now though, there was Brock, who began to bring home beers and they both voiced how take out was beginning to get stale.

It starts so very gradually as all things in their friendship do, where one day Brock places a plastic bag filled with random cuts of meat he saw on sale with an absent shrug that Jack _could figure something out with it_ and life finds a way to make Jack remember things in his past that he used to think were long forgotten. Mostly simple family related things that he thought had slipped between the cracks of his memory but found were only buried away and hoped to be forgotten.

It’s a thing he does now, finds meals online with video tutorials and sends two to Brock to pick between and they spend the time in the kitchen. Brock does what he does and directs him even if he doesn’t know what the hell the instructor is referring to, two fingers wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle as he scrolls through the recipe and finds a way to mock what Jack does. Jack can’t do anything but cook, laughing because he just _feels_ it while focused on the task at hand and knows by the excitement laced in Brock’s voice he wants this, that they’re content like this, searching through ancient recipes and recreating them in the warm setting of Jack’s tiny little place.

They rotate between eating in serene silence with their feet bumping into one another under the table or on the couch while Jack catches a hockey game despite Brock’s grumbling protests or Brock absorbing the latest episode of some trashy reality show Jack can’t stand. There’s always occasional groans of satisfaction escaping his friend’s mouth as he eats and Jack can only smile to himself, pleased and awash with a contentment he can’t put his finger on. He really hadn’t realized how much he missed this, the simplicity of sharing a meal with someone else.

He also hadn’t realized how his feelings for Brock evolved into something much more so quickly.

Brock’s never slept over after his first random visit. From time to time when he’s silently affected by something he’ll nap on the couch from pure exhaustion, feet propped up on the coffee table and a throw pillow hugged to his chest but he always woke up at a generally acceptable time to let Jack prepare for bed and head back to his own place. Jack’s not exactly sure what to make of it but he can tell that their interactions outside of work relieves some of that tension he holds and there’s a way about him now that clearly tells Jack that just being there is helping.

Besides, even when Brock isn’t there, the house doesn’t feel as lonely and empty as it once did so they both get something out of it.

*****

It’s barely four in morning when Jack wakes up to loud and heavy knocks, three at a time that already told him who was on the other side. There’s rain beating down along the roof and windows, a rumble of thunder carrying on overhead as he makes his way to the front.

He’s wary upon reaching the door, the key hadn’t gone missing last time he checked but it was definitely Brock waiting there when he answered the door. His friend stood as still as possible, shoulders pulled in with the pinch of his leather jacket over his chest in a lost effort to keep warm despite the rain soaking up every thread of his clothing, a well of water expending the longer he stood at the door. The moment Jack laid eyes on him he straightened up, hand letting go of his jacket as he tried to hide the chill wrapped around him that seemingly sunk into his bones.

Jack can only sigh at him as he pulls him inside, securing the door before he turns to look him over again once he hits the light, “You’re soaking wet.”

“Yeah, kinda rainin’.” Brock snipes back, but his voice is wavering in the way it would if someone was trying not to let their teeth chatter.

Generally Jack refrains from the impulse pressing at him when they’re on a job and Brock gets injured but he ignores it this time around and forces the leather jacket off his shoulders, Brock grumping at being manhandled but goes with it. 

“You’re freezing. There’s towels in the bathroom, get out of those clothes and throw them in the wash, take a damn shower while you’re at it and warm up. Jesus Brock.” 

Jack expects a fight, or at least something stubborn and bull-headed to come out from Brock’s mouth but to his surprise Brock only gets out of his shoes and peels off his socks, carrying them along with him to the bathroom and not saying a single word.

As Jack’s mind wanders about why Brock didn’t just show up in his car like he usually did and a few other questions, he’s walking back into his bedroom and pulling out some clothes for Brock to change into. The shower’s already on when he gets to the bathroom, resting the outfit just at the door and he goes into the kitchen to put the coffee maker on, dropping into a chair. He closes his eyes and takes a breather, collecting his thoughts about what was going on and could be going on, the pitter-patter of the rain keeping him company as he waited.

Brock comes in just as Jack’s finished fixing them both a cup, stirring milk into one before he turns and brings them over, trying his best not to stare too long over his clothes on Brock before he shifts his gaze across the table while Brock takes his mug and only keeps it company, hair damp and pushed back away from his face. They sit in silence, thunder crashing across the sky sporadically and Jack glances out the window, tracking drops of rain rolling down the glass.

“Forgot the damn car keys at work.” Brock finally mutters out, his eyes trained to stare at the table top surface, “Climbed in to my place through a window cause I just couldn’t be bothered, well ‘til later.” 

At first Jack only listens with all his attention on Brock, moving only to take sips of his coffee and not offering anything; eventually though, he mimics the way Brock has his hands cupped around his mug and sits up a bit straighter, “What happened?” 

Brock immediately shows signs of not wanting to talk about it, shrugging too easily and tensing up his shoulders as he leans back against his chair, arms folding over his chest in an attempt to look nonchalant, “All the good stuff and ya know, I jus- ”

“Didn’t want to be alone.” Jack finishes off because he knows that feeling all too well.

Brock hides the grimace formed at his lips with a smirk but it fails to throw Jack off, “To sum it up, yeah and you get it.”

It’s in Brock’s eyes, the way the gold mixes in with the hazel. He gives off so much sharpness in his expressions but if you know how to look, how to really understand, there’s this humanity in him too that Jack feels he needs to keep whole. 

Brock seems to know it now too.

Despite how much he wants to touch him all of a sudden, rest a hand to shoulder or maybe at his forearm in a way to comfort him, Brock’s still coiled tight and tense throughout his entire body, walls up and his frame pulled into itself. So instead Jack pulls his hands farther away, closer to his own body and gives him the space he wants, watching him with that carefulness. “I used to bake a lot of bread.” 

Brock’s eyes narrow a second before he gets the meaning behind the words, gaze lifting to meet him, “Oh yeah?”

Jack nods as he takes another sip from his mug, “I’d toss and turn and try to sleep. Wasn’t into taking anything for it and I had some hard stuff on hand to knock out an elephant but I just preferred not to. I started to stay up and read at first but it still didn’t help, I’d clean my weapons too, keep my hands distracted. Slowly that traveled into the kitchen and I began experimenting with breadmaking, quickly gaining confidence and trying more difficult recipes and various ways to change up proofing.” He gave himself a self-depreciating smile, “It helped forget about how alone I was too.” 

“And now?” Brock asks, slowly getting up and rifling around in the cabinet for some tumbler glasses, bringing those and the bottle of bourbon with him, “Need somethin’ stronger.” 

Jack sets aside his mug, taking the glass he’s offered when it is with a wry smirk, “Sleep like shit if I don’t get outta bed.” 

Drinking down what’s in his in one go, Brock refills with a bark of a laugh and a shake of his head, “Yeah, sounds ‘bout right.”

Nodding in agreement, Jack mulls over the alcohol and swallows it down, sliding his tumbler over for another. They fall silent, the sound of the steady rain echoing around them off the roof and against the windows.

Jack finally gives in, barely ten minutes into their heads, “Why haven’t you stayed?”

He entirely expects Brock to deflect, to pull up his walls and scoff at him, maybe even explode and turn on him but apparently he’s either too tired or just completely done with his usual angry badger methods of pushing him away.

“It’s safe ‘ere.” Brock admits with an air of matter-of-factness to it as he takes another sip from his glass and doesn’t look at him. “If I stayed over it would change how I see this place. It’s somewhere I can count on, go and act like shit’s normal.” He shakes his head, “I wanna forget everythin’, I can do that ‘ere. If I get too comfortable, shit’s jus gonna follow me. Can’t do that, Jackie.” 

The openness and vulnerability in Brock hits too close within Jack, remembers all the times when Brock didn’t realize he was being watched, when he thought he was alone and then all the time it took for him to even take his key the first time. It makes him think of how he dealt with the same issues, how he preferred to hide them away than let anyone know, how he keeps doing that out of second nature and he knows exactly how Brock feels because of it. 

He keeps staring at the liquid held in his glass, sat still and even as the kitchen light reflects off the surface while his hands loosely sit around it, “You help me forget too. I can breathe again when you’re around.” 

He doesn’t look up to see Brock’s reaction even though there is no sound or obvious movement. Still, he can’t bring himself to do it and make eye contact either way, at least not yet as he swallows thickly and forces himself to admit things properly. 

“At first I thought that maybe, because I could see you were trying to hide it all, that maybe I could be of some help. Maybe a human punching bag or someone to vent to, that I could let you know besides out there, I was here too if you needed it. I don’t know when it was that things changed but at some point it did for me and you started being something more than just a friend visiting. I just felt at ease with you here, I felt sane.” Jack lifted his eyes to catch Brock’s dead on, “You make me feel _normal_.” 

Brock doesn’t say anything, he only stares back like he’s unsure of believing what was just said and Jack can understand that. “We’re both a little fucked up.”

It’s what causes Brock to react, scoffing as he sits a little straighter, “Ya think?”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t trust you to watch my back or that I don’t want you here.” Jack exhales deeply, unsure if he should admit the next part or not but wants to either way, “You come over and you stay for hours, then come back and do it all over again. No one’s ever..”

He stops himself and chickens out, dropping his eyes in an attempt to ease the way his whole entire being feels undeserving of Brock’s full attention. He’s not out on the field, he can’t speak to his Commander with that ease of confidence he's expected out there because here it’s entirely different and there's so much more at stake.

He can feel Brock staring, gaze boring into him and they sit in silence like that for awhile until Brock’s hand lightly nudges against his and he looks up to eyes trying to understand him, read something out of it. Jack’s unsure. 

Equally he doesn’t react when Brock slides a palm across the back of his, tentative and watching his every reaction which he thinks currently is an unreadable expression that might frustrate his friend. If it does, Brock doesn’t show it and instead moves closer, the chair scraping against the wood floor until they’re side by side and copper eyes squint at him while Jack only relaxes his breathing not sure what secret has been found behind his eyes but makes no attempt to hide it. It was something they shared, some connection even Jack didn’t know how to explain and he was the one who constantly thought about it despite trying to talk himself down from expecting anything because there really was no possible way.

At least until this quiet moment here where Brock is staring for way too long as he sat next to him and Jack isn’t sure if he’s about to be yelled at, that his friend knows somehow but is so surprised and he doesn’t want to make a scene but he wants to make sure Jack gets those stupid ideas out of his head. He gets it, not that there’s much to really get, it’s just a line he shouldn’t cross, especially with Brock. He’s made peace with it awhile ago.

Jack raises a hand away from his glass not sure what to do but sure he needs to do _something_ and lessen the intensity of the situation. He moves to get up, “I should- ”

But Brock presses a palm to his chest and pushes him back into his seat, hand pressed firmly there with no plan on lifting away and then he’s moving in for a kiss, desperate and demanding. 

Brock might as well have punched Jack in the chest anyway from his impulsiveness. He doesn’t reciprocate the kiss, not yet at least, trying to scramble out of his shock to breathe and pull his mind from the delay he was experiencing. It was something that he slowly began to come to the realization of that yes this was Brock in his space, here and making a move on him because he wanted to.

The second he complies and kisses back, Brock groans from somewhere deep within his throat and gets his hand at the nape of Jack’s neck, pulling him closer as he presses in. 

He’s not sure when exactly Brock was practically on his lap but he holds him close, wants to make sure he’s not asleep somewhere and dreaming this moment. Brock’s mouth opens a little without too much coercion and the bourbon mingles into his senses. It’s then when something inside of Jack settles, curls up within, satisfied and content to the outcome that he didn’t realize he was worried about in the first place. 

Fingers slip into his hair, gripping a handful close to the back of his head, grounding him like his hands do at hips and they stay just like that, kissing each other in their quiet little bubble surrounded by the thrum of heavy rain and the occasional rumble of thunder.

It’s when he goes to drag his mouth across stubbled jaw that Brock pulls him back into place.

“Is that invitation still open?” He asks, words brushing against Jack’s kiss-numbed lips.

“Which..?”

“To stay..” Brock breathes out, dropping to drag his lips along the aging scar at his face. He inhales shakily as his free hand grips firmly to shoulder and Jack can feel Brock’s lips against his own skin as he forms a small smile, Jack can relate to how loaded he is approaching this. “Stay here, overnight.” 

“Yeah.” Jack grins, something else he’s absently perplexed by, how often he can laugh and smile around Brock when usually he’s so closed off and professionally stoic. A kiss presses to Brock’s bottom lip when he coaxes him to return, he gets the impression he’s light headed, “It’s always open for you.” 

Again he feels Brock smile, this time it’s wider, the way it goes when he’s leaned back into whatever seat he’s commandeered and jean clad thighs go spread, grin unguarded and open. It’s an indication that things are fine when he does it, like how he’s doing now.

“You better be a man of yer word, Rawls.”

Jack knows Brock believes him, they haven’t worked together on the pretense of hopes and dreams. They’d forced a level of trust onto each other for the benefit of getting shit done from the beginning and time had only been good about making it stronger. 

He nods against Brock either way thinking that maybe, _just maybe_ , in the process of accepting it that he’ll decide to stay forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Agnes - Glass Animals


End file.
